


The Great Miller Family Experiment

by SamanthaStephens



Series: Camp Evergreen [3]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Coming Out, Figuring out how to fuck, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Meet the Family, Meeting the Parents, Minor Angst, Phone Sex, Second Time, Sex-related anxiety
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-19
Updated: 2016-04-05
Packaged: 2018-05-14 22:23:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5761129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SamanthaStephens/pseuds/SamanthaStephens
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eames POV Camp Evergreen sequel:</p><p>Eames visits Arthur's family. He is utterly terrified. He's also absolutely determined to figure out this penetrative sex business once and for all. With Arthur's help, of course.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. End of Term

The last few days of term are such a rush that Eames hardly has time to think about his impending visit to Arthur's family's house. But the moment he hands in his last portfolio of the year, the panic comes crashing down over his ears. 

He texts Arthur: [can u talk?]

Arthur replies: [Almost home, call you when I get there]

Arthur rings him back within 20 minutes. 

"What's up?"

"I'm having a bit of an anxiety attack, darling. I think it's only just occurred to me that this is reality and that I'll be flying to your house tomorrow. All this time, I was looking forward to seeing you at the end of term and not really thinking it through to meeting your parents as well. I'm suddenly bloody terrified."

Arthur laughs. Bless him. 

Eames is well aware that he's being a bit of a prat right now, whinging about meeting Arthur's by all accounts very nice parents when Arthur has already done the vastly more difficult thing in coming out to them and in insisting that Eames be allowed to stay at their home for a few days. Eames is on the verge of tears every time he so much as thinks about it, but that doesn't mean he isn't frightened right now all the same. 

"It'll be OK," Arthur says, although he doesn't sound absolutely certain himself. "I mean, Heather loved you from the minute she met you. They'll come around."

"Just ... just promise me that even if they hate me, you'll still love me," Eames says, his voice small and scared-sounding in his own ears. 

"I promise," Arthur replies, solemn. "But I really don't think they'll hate you. It might be ... weird. But they won't hate you." 

If Arthur's parents dislike him, Eames doubts it will be at all personal, and more to do with him representing proof of their darling son not turning out quite as they'd hoped. But it's possible he's projecting that onto the Millers from his own parents, so he keeps quiet. He doesn't want to drag Arthur down into his own fears. It wouldn't be fair. 

Arthur had phoned him after telling his parents the truth and his voice had been all shaky and his thoughts scattered and repetitive. Eames had thought him the bravest person on earth. Then Arthur had rung again a few hours later and been very, very drunk after his minx of a sister had taken him out, God knows where, to celebrate with a bottle of whiskey. 

Eames still can't quite believe that he's lucky enough to have someone who will face these most-terrifying things for him. 

Feeling chastened, he says: "I'll do my very best to be likable for you, darling." 

"Don't worry so much. We'll figure it out. I wouldn't have invited you here if I thought it was going to be a disaster, you know." 

"I know ... it's just. I really don't want to cock this up. I really don't want to feel ... " he trails off, unable to say what he means, even to Arthur. 

"Rejected," Arthur supplies. Trust him to have Eames' number at all times. "Believe me, I get that. When I told them, it was ... the only time I've been anywhere close to that terrified was when I came to your cabin window that first time at camp." 

Eames laughs. 

"I hope they were easier on you than I was. God I was such a knob." 

"No, you were great. It was ... everything started that night, because you were so honest with me. I ... don't you think it kind of set the precedent for everything between us?" 

Eames' chest is warm. When he gets like this, he feels he can do anything. He'll just have to maintain it through tomorrow evening when he meets Arthur's parents. 

His stomach rumbles just then, and Eames remembers than he hasn't eaten a proper meal in fuck knows how long and that he should probably get some sleep if he wants to appear at least half presentable to Arthur's family tomorrow. 

"What time do you parents get home?" he asks. 

"What, tomorrow? They'll be there by the time you land." 

"No today. I was wondering if I went to have an early supper now whether you'd be free to help me, um, _fall asleep_ later?" 

Arthur laughs. 

"Always," he says. "Although I honestly don't think you actually need it." 

"Perhaps not, but I do want it," Eames replies. 

Honestly, Eames is ready to go right now, just from hearing Arthur's little intake of breath in response to his request. But the prudent part of his brain knows he needs to eat now or he'll wake up famished in the middle of the night and disrupt his sleep yet again. Anyway, it's not like Arthur won't get him all worked up again in two seconds when they're back on the phone. And the anticipation will be sweet. 

"How about ... " Arthur responds, and Eames can hear him grinning through the line; Arthur likes to pretend to negotiate about these things, although they both know that there is really no losing when it comes to phone sex. "How about you order some food on your computer and stay on the phone with me now. I'll make it last until the delivery guy arrives." 

Eames shivers at the promise in Arthur's voice. And fumbles as he opens his laptop to order from his favourite curry house nearby. 

He chats to Arthur about his final projects as he places the order. He was thrilled with how the last one came out, much better than he'd anticipated at the start of term, but is still kicking himself for his life drawing portfolio not ending up quite as he'd hoped. Even after he's ordered, he lets himself natter on for a bit, relaxing into the easy flow of conversation, trying to force himself to forget about his anxieties for the time being. 

"I'm going to duck out of school early Friday," Arthur tells him, somewhat out of the blue, considering how hard Eames is concentrating on not thinking about his visit just now. "It'll probably be our only chance at really being alone together, since my mom will be home all weekend and my dad's shop will be closed on Monday and then you'll be leaving." 

Eames gulps. 

"Thinking about your parents isn't helping me relax, Arthur." 

Arthur laughs. 

"What I mean is that I can't stop thinking about having you alone in my room for the afternoon." 

Eames feels his heart rate pick up and his prick starting to harden. He's about to ask what Arthur plans to do to him once they're alone in Arthur's bedroom, when he's struck with the realization that this may be the last time he and Arthur do this, on the phone, at least for a very long time. Once he leaves the Miller family's house, he'll go home and Arthur's mobile won't be able to reach him there. And then they'll be at camp. And then they'll be in Chicago together. Well, technically speaking, Eames will be in Chicago and Arthur Evanston, but essentially the same place. 

Typically of himself, Eames feels nostalgic for a moment even before its passed. He wants to make this special. Memorable. 

They haven't spoken much of what happened at the end of Arthur's last visit. Not in a sexy context anyway. On his last night, the day after they'd had proper sex for the first time, Eames had tried to return the favor--just a bit--and introduce Arthur to fingering. But it had been a disaster. Arthur hadn't taken to it at all and Eames had felt like such a dreadful failure and had desperately wanted to fix things by letting Arthur fuck him again, but he'd been too sore to get past foreplay himself. 

Although Arthur had remained smiling and jovial throughout the whole business, Eames had been sulky all evening. In an attempt to soothe, Arthur had put the whole thing in Eames' hands, told him that he could decide when, if ever, they did it again, and that he wouldn't bring it up unless Eames did first. Eames had been so embarrassed by it all that he's mostly just avoided the whole thing ever since.

But it's not as if he doesn't want Arthur to fuck him again. He does. Very badly. Preferably on this trip, if at all possible. It sounds as if Friday afternoon will be their only chance. 

So he reaches into his suitcase and pulls out his little tub of petroleum jelly. 

"Mmmmm … now I'm thinking about it, too," he says. "I can't wait to see where you sleep at night. I think I know what I'd like to happen in there, too." 

"Oh yeah?" 

Eames wiggles his jeans down over his hips and kicks them down his legs. 

"Yeah." 

"Well are you going to tell me? Or make me guess?" 

"I don't think this is something you'd guess." 

He hears Arthur gasp a bit through the line. 

"Oh? Why not?" 

"You promised you wouldn't bring it up until I did first," Eames says plainly. 

Arthur groans. 

"I've got something here with me, should I use it to finger myself open and imagine it's you doing it?" 

"Oh fuck … yes, please do that. Please." 

Eames switches his mobile to speaker and sets it on his chest, drawing his knees up and sliding a finger into himself, exhaling a little louder than he ordinarily might, to ensure Arthur hears it. 

"Tell me," Arthur gasps. "Tell me how you feel. What you feel." 

"I feel warm. Tight. I haven't done this in weeks. I should have been practicing for you." 

Arthur exhales a strong puff of air and then inhales a deep breath. 

"Fuck. Oh God, Eames. No … I mean, it doesn't matter. I will open you up for as long as it takes if that's what you need, if that's what you want. Tell me again, is that really what you want? Tell me … " 

Eames still has a lot of questions about how they're going to work this between them longterm, but they don't really matter, not now. He does want to do it again. He knows they can figure it out. He knows that his body wants to feel Arthur in that way again, inside him. 

"Yes, yes Arthur," he says, slipping in a second finger, playing with his foreskin with his other hand. "I want to feel you. Want to feel your fingers inside me again. It's so different to my own, so much better. Never felt like that before … before you did it … "

Arthur is making little strangled noises now, ones Eames recognizes to mean he's close to coming. 

"Not yet, Arthur. Wait. There's more … I want … I want … "

"What do you want? Tell me," Arthur demands, voice clearer and stronger, probably leaving off touching himself until Eames finishes first. 

Eames starts stroking himself properly, no more playful toying around. 

"I … to feel you. More than just your fingers. I want … you to be inside me. Your prick. Oh Arthur … I … I … I know you can make it feel so good for me. I know you can … Tell me … tell me what you'll do … "

Arthur is breathing hard again. 

"I'll … I'll … I'll go so slow with my fingers, twisting them and curling them … just how you like … make you arch off the bed, so fucking hot, oh God, you don't know how you look like that, stretched all tight like a bow … I want to make you feel so good, Eames, and I'll keep going … as long as you need, until you come, after even. And then when you're ready, I'll slide inside, so slow. I … I want to look at you, face to face, see your eyes light up when I find that spot … ohhhhhhh … Eames I … I … I want to watch you fall apart, make you scream … I fuck … fuck, Eames … I'm gonna … I can't … I ..." 

"It's OK, darling, me too, me too" Eames says and really lets Arthur hear it as he shatters apart into a million pieces, come coating his stomach, some even hitting the wall next to his head. 

He lets out a long, low growl afterward. 

"Fuuuuuuck, Arthur. That was bloody amazing. Christ." 

Arthur's voice is ragged when he replies with a drawn out curse of his own. 

They stay silent for a moment then, just letting their brains come back online, their breathing normalize. 

"I can't wait to see you tomorrow," Arthur says, finally. 

"I can't believe it's really happening." 

"Me neither. I'll be waiting for you at baggage claim. I finally convinced my parents to let me pick you up alone, so we'll have the whole drive back just us before you have to meet them. A buffer."

"That's good. Thank you. I promise to do my very best, darling." 

"You'll be great. Don't worry so much."

"Ha! Well I'll try not to. … Bugger my food is here. Must dash. Thank you so much for that." 

"No thank you Eames, seriously. That was … amazing. And … just so you … I know that wasn't a promise, OK. If you change your mind about any of that, it's OK. You know that, right? I wouldn't mind at all." 

Warmth floods Eames' chest again. His boyfriend is the most-considerate man in the world. He really is. 

"I love you so much, darling. I really do." 

"I love you too, Eames. See you tomorrow." 

"Not if I see you first," Eames replies, and hears Arthur's answering laughter as he rings off.


	2. Arrival

The second Eames' plane lands, he's texting Arthur, simultaneously eager as hell to see his boyfriend in the flesh and nearly faint with dread at the thought of finally meeting Arthur's parents.

The only positive he can see is that he'll only have to meet them for the first time once. Every time after the sure-to-be-awkward initial one will have to be an improvement. Either they will like Eames and he'll learn how to be comfortable with them, or they'll hate him and he will be prepared to steel himself for their dislike going forward. 

But as it is, he feels so bloody vulnerable, hoping against hope to be welcomed into the family, but all too aware of the many reasons he may not be. His gender, for one. His age, for another. The lies Arthur told them when he'd visited, for third, and the fact that their very existence means the Millers will almost certainly know that he and Arthur have had sex. He imagines that they'll all be sitting around the supper table thinking about it and trying not to think about it. What a horror show! And that's not even mentioning the tattoos or the fact that he's in art school. 

Despite all his apprehension, seeing Arthur is his paramount concern and Eames rushes out of the gate and down to the baggage area as fast as possible. 

Arthur is standing near the glass doors with his hands in his pockets, looking devastatingly handsome. His face lights up with a dimpled grin when he sees Eames striding down the corridor toward him. 

It strikes Eames anew how fortunate he is to be loved like this--unwaveringly and without question. He doesn't know what he did to deserve someone like Arthur, but he damn well isn't ever letting him go. 

He closes the distance between them, unsure of what kind of greeting is appropriate in this setting. 

Arthur surprises Eames by kissing him full on the mouth. He gasps and Arthur gives a tiny nip to his bottom lip in reply before breaking away. 

"I couldn't wait," he says. "Sorry."

"Nothing to apologise for. I don't care about PDAs if you don't."

Arthur looks at his shoes. 

"I'll care when we get home. But not here. I wish I didn't. I wish I were braver ..."

"Don't be absurd," Eames says, catching Arthur's hand in his own. "You are far more brave than I on that front."

"How many bags do you have?" Arthur asks with a grateful smile. 

"Too many. Far too many. But it was impossible to pare down. Not with needing things for home and for camp. Plus art supplies."

"You look ... " Arthur gives him a considering once over. "All dressed up. Not your usual skin-tight jeans and second hand shirts."

Eames shrugs and feels his face flushing.

"This is how my mum likes me to dress. I thought I should make a good impression."

"Don't get me wrong, you always look hot, but I prefer how you usually look. That green jacket ... I think about you in it all the time."  

Eames squeezes Arthur's hand in gratitude as his face surely grows a deeper shade of crimson.

They gather Eames' three full-to-bursting bags off the carousel. Arthur insists on carrying two of them out to the car park. Eames protests that it is ridiculous, but relents, because he enjoys watching Arthur's lithe strength as he easily handles Eames' luggage. 

"I can feel your eyes," Arthur laughs as they navigate the rows of cars. 

"As if that wasn't your intention," Eames pretends to grumble about being caught out. "I'll tell you a secret, Arthur. I'm a sure thing. You don't need to seduce me."

"But I _like_ to," Arthur replies, winking at Eames over his shoulder. 

He's clearly feeling saucy today. Sometimes Eames can hardly believe this flirty, sexy Arthur is the same  uncetain boy he met at camp not even a year ago. He feels a degree of pride for whatever part he can claim in turning Arthur into such a confident creature, one who never hesitates these days to tell Eames what he wants and likes best.

As if to prove Eames' point, Arthur sets down the luggage next to a nondescript silver car and pushes Eames up against it, kissing him thoroughly. Eames drops his remaining bag and surrenders to the moment, allowing his thighs to part slightly as Arthur presses his body against Eames' own so that he can really feel him properly, or as properly as one can while fully dressed. He wraps one foot around Arthur's ankle to give himself leverage as he winds his arms around Arthur's shoulders and rubs shamelessly up against him in turn, already blindingly hard against the zip of his trousers. 

Just then the lift behind them dings and Arthur breaks the kiss and steps back a bit, but not so far away as to leave the circle of Eames' arms. He rests his hands on Eames' waist and sighs. 

"I know a place we can stop on the way home. Nothing fancy, just in the car. If ... as long as that's OK with you?"

"Arthur are you trying to distract me from my anxiety about meeting your parents with sex?"

Arthur shrugs. 

"Maybe a little. But I also think I might go crazy if I have to wait until tomorrow to get my hands on you.  

His words send a little shivver up Eames' spine. 

"I could probably do with a little distraction, to be honest."

Arthur's face looks serious. 

"I know it's scary, Eames, but I'm pretty sure that they'll really like you. It will probably be kind of awkward at first, but .. They are nice people. I wouldn't ask you here if I thought it would go badly."

"I know you wouldn't, darling. I'm just ... bringing fears about my own parents to the table. Hardly fair, I know. But I can't seem to help it."

He wonders if he will ever be able to introduce Arthur to his family. He wonders if he will feel comfortable being open with them in any way. He wonders if he's a bad person for continuing to accept their money for school, or if striking out on his own would be the correct choice.  

A deeply secret part of Eames likes to imagine Arthur's family accepting him so thoroughly that his own parent's almost inevitable eventual rejection won't matter so much. But that's a long way off, and probably a pipe dream to boot.

Arthur hoists the bags into the trunk and unlocks the doors. 

"I've never seen you drive a car before," Eames says as they buckle themselves in. "Is it strange if I say it seems very adult?"

Arthur chuckles. 

"Seems a lot less adult than some of the other stuff you've seen me do," he smirks. 

"I don't know how. That's probably why."

"Do you want me to teach you? I could offer prizes for good performance." 

Eames laughs. 

They pull out, and although he'd been joking before, he does find something thrillingly sexy about watching Arthur drive, seeing his hands on the wheel and the gearbox. Similar to how he felt watching Arthur play tennis the summer previous. There's something enticing about competence. 

By the the Arthur pulls off the motorway and heads down a secluded road and into a shaded park, Eames is in quite a state. Arthur pulls over in the far corner of a deserted parking area and turns to Eames eagerly. 

"I feel as if I'm in one of Dom's camp stories. Eames and Arthur at Makeout Point. When is the man with the hook for a hand going to spring out of the bushes and terrorize us?"

Arthur laughs. 

"I researched it online. It should be safe. The park is underfunded and has really limited hours. No one should come by."

"The risk of getting caught will only make it more exciting," Eames jokes as he unfastens his seatbelt and pushes his seat back so that Arthur can crawl over and straddle him. 

"I'm sorry to say, I don't think I can last that long anyway," Arthur smirks and leans in for a kiss. 

Arthur pops the buttons of Eames' shirt open one by one and runs his hands up and down his chest as they kiss. 

Eames threads his fingers through Arthur's hair, and pushes his feet against the floor to grind up against Arthur's open thighs. 

"God, Eames, I haven't been able to stop thinking about this, about tomorrow, about seeing you every day this summer."

Eames feels a thrill down to his toes at the reminder of promises he'd made for the following afternoon. 

He reaches for Arthur's belt, undoing it with fingers made clumsy by lust, and pulling down his zip. Arthur's gorgeous prick is straining against his black pants and Eames rolls his fingers across the fabric. 

Arthur moans in response and moves to undo Eames' flies in return. He strokes Eames a few times with his clever hands that never fail to give Eames butterflies then drops to crouch on the floor, wrapping his lips around the crown of Eames' prick, running his tongue under the foreskin. 

It's electric. 

Eames can never get enough of this, could never have imagined how much better it would be with someone he loves, would never have thought he deserved someone as generous as Arthur unfailingly is. 

He tilts his head back against the seat and gives over to the sensation he's been fantasizing about for weeks. 

It doesn't take long before his toes are flexing against the floor and his leg muscles are siezing up as he comes down Arthur's beautiful throat. 

"Get up here, you devil," he pants, eager to return the favor. 

"Hands, give me your hands," Arthur replies before licking into Eames' mouth, letting him taste himself on Arthur's tongue. 

Arthur sucks Eames' fingers one by one and he sets to work on Arthur's prick, stroking it more roughly than he would his own, just as Arthur prefers. He thinks about it being inside his body this time tomorrow and shivers in a mixture of fear and anticipation. 

Arthur's prediction proves correct and he comes very quickly, biting down on Eames' earlobe as he exhales a string of delicious noises. 

They kiss a few more times and then set themselves to rights, more aware of their semi-public location now that the urgency is gone. 

"Thank you darling," he says, kissing Arthur's brow after he returns to his own seat. 

"Do you feel better now?"

"Much. How do I look? Too mussed? It wouldn't do to have your parents know what we've been up to. Should I change?" 

They notice a suspicious I looking spot on the hem of his shirt, so Eames switches to his mum's second favourite of his outfits--grey trousers and a creamy yellow Oxford. 

Arthur holds his hand for most of the journey, until they are driving down the tiny main street of his town. He squeezes in apology when he lets go, but Eames doesn't mind. He's too busy trying to stop his stomach from doing  gymnastics routines. 

Finally Arthur turns down a sunny-looking road and pulls into the drive of a square, white house with black trim and cheerful red curtains. It looks so welcoming. Eames hopes against hope that its appearance doesn't belie what awaits in its interior. 


	3. Meet the Millers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some mild angst in this one. But very mild. I almost hesitate to mention it.

"Are you OK?" Arthur asks Eames as he undoes his own seatbelt.  

"I'm terrified. You?"

"I'm kinda nervous," Arthur offers a half smile. "But I know it will be OK, despite that."

He reaches over and gives Eames' arm a friendly squeeze.

Just then the front door flies open on its hinges and Heather comes bounding down the walk toward them. 

Eames likes her. Not just because she looks after Arthur when he needs it, but because she's funny and enthusiastic and has been utterly welcoming toward Eames. He's pleased she'll be here for his visit.

He emerges from the car, trying not to let his fear show on his face, and she wraps her arms around him.

"Eames! I'm so glad you're finally here!! Are you OK? How was your flight?"

"It was fine. I'm just a bit ... close to having an anxiety attack, honestly."

"Poor baby. Don't worry. Arthur is the favourite. They have to like you or it will upend the whole social order around here," she winks. 

He offers a watery smile in return.

"Well no time like the present," he says. "Let's give it a go. See if I'm worthy."

Arthur appears at his side, "more than worthy," he replies, handing one bag to Eames and another to Heather, brushing his fingers reassuringly against Eames' in the process. 

They ascend the front steps and Eames' heart feels as if it might beat straight out of his chest. God, I don't really believe in you, but please don't let me cock this up, he thinks, feeling as if he's walking toward the gallows. 

Mr. and Mrs. Miller are waiting in the foyer just inside the front door. He tries his best to offer them a smile that doesn't look like a grimace. He thinks about all the etiquette rules his own mum enforced over the years and tells himself to shape up and do this right.

Arthur moves to stand between them and says, "Mom, Dad, this is Eames. Eames, these are my parents."

Eames extends his hand to Arthur's father. 

"Mr. Miller, thank you so much for inviting me to your lovely home," he turns to Arthur's mother. "It's so kind of you to have me as a guest, Mrs. Miller. I hope you didn't go to to much trouble."

"Douglas, please," Arthur's father says and his smile is warm and kind. He looks a great deal like Heather, actually. 

"And you may call me Tristan, if you prefer," he says in turn. "Eames is my surname."

"How was the trip?" Arthur's father--Eames isn't sure he can bring himself to call him Douglas--asks as he ushers them into the lounge. "Leave the bags," he adds. "Well deal with them later."

"It was uneventful, which I guess is all one can really ask for when it comes to travel," Eames replies in his most-polite tone. 

They sit on the two sofas and share an awkward silence, before Mr. Miller asks Eames about the end of his first year at school. 

"Oh it was exhausting. But I think it ended quite well. I have some of my drawings digitized if you'd like to see them. I'm quite excited for next year when I can try my hand at sculpture."

They chat for about three-quarters of an hour, Eames and Mr. Miller driving the conversation,  Arthur piping in with additional details and Heather offering a few jokes. 

Eames notes that Arthur's mum hardly says anything at all. He wonders whether she's shy or if she's uncertain about him. The funny thing is that finds he doesn't mimd so much. If this is the worst discomfort Arthur' family has to offer, he will be greatful. 

He also realizes that Mr. Miller hasn't asked after Eames' own parents, which surely must be intentional. Arthur must have told him it is a sensitive subject, bless him.

After a bit, Mrs. Miller excuses herself to start supper. Eames offers to help and Arthur volunteers that he's a "fantastic cook," which is taking things a bit far, honestly. However, she declines his assistance. 

Arthur stands to show Eames to his room and Mr. Miller follows his wife to the kitchen. 

Heather rolls her eyes. 

"Don't worry about Mom," she says. "She's just nervous."

Arthur's mouth is set in a hard line as he moves toward the luggage and Eames realises he's angry. He follows him to a short corridor on the opposite side of the lounge and into a tidy bedroom with dusty pink carpets and a navy and cream quilt. 

"Don't be cross, " he whispers. 

"I promised you everything would be fine and then she acts like that. I'm so sorry, Eames."

"It's hardly as if she threw me out into the street, darling. I thought perhaps she was just shy."

"She's not shy."

"Well let's win her over then, shall we?"

Eames surprises himself with how magnanimous he feels about the situation. It's only just that between his own family's inevitable row whenever he develops the courage to come out to them, and the horrifying visions he'd had of this meeting going much, much worse, he finds that a little coldness is well within the realm of what he can handle. 

Arthur shakes his head, incredulous. 

"So all that time you were freaking out and I was telling you not to worry, and then something goes wrong and I'm furious and you're optimistic?" 

Eames laughs. 

"I suppose so, yes. Honestly, this is something with which I can work. I feel so much better, really."

"You're amazing, Eames. I'm so lucky."

He leans forward and brushes a quick kiss to Eames' mouth. 

"I'm the lucky one, Arthur. I promise you that if the day ever comes when you meet my family, you will look back on this fondly."

"It's not your fault your parents are dicks, Eames."

"Thank God for small favors."

They return to the lounge where Mr. Miller apologizes for not having offered Eames anything to drink earlier. 

"Why don't you boys take some lemonade and sit out on the porch until dinner is ready?"

It's the most-Americana phrase Eames has ever heard in his entire life and it delights him. 

"Let's sit out back," Arthur says. 

He doesn't have to explain to Eames why he'd rather avoid the prying eyes of the neighbors in front. Eames can't tell whether Mr. Miller understands his son's thought process, but he shrugs and says he'll bring them a pitcher and some glasses outside. 

There are rattan chaises on the back verandah and Eames stretches out on one. Arthur pushes a second close by it and takes Eames' hand when he sits back.

"Is this OK?" Eames asks. "I don't want to frighten your father. He's being so lovely."

"I'm not really in the mood to tiptoe around them right now."

"Arthur, please, I understand your being upset. I do. But I only get the one opportunity to make a first impression." 

Arthur relents, but not without giving Eames' fingers a quick kiss. 

"I'm sorry," he says. "I don't mean to be pushy."

"You're not. I'm being silly. I shouldn't care. I should just be myself. It's only ..." Eames drifts off, afraid to express how badly he wants to fit in.

"I know, sweetheart. I get it. I want that too."

Eames is flooded with gratitude that Arthur doesn't think his hopes of finding a second family here are embarassing or odd. 

"I love it when you call me sweetheart."

"Mmmmm ... What about baby?"

"Most especially baby."

Mr. Miller turns up just then with a perfectly arranged beverage tray, which he sets on a nearby table.

"Thank you so much, Mr. Miller," Eames days, accepting a glass. 

"Douglas, please. We're pretty casual around here, Tristan."

Eames flushes.

"I'll work up to it," he stammers, making Arthur's father laugh, at least. 

They enjoy the warm evening air, talking intermittently about nothing terribly important, finally relaxing a bit. 

After a while, Arthur takes Eames' hand again and he doesn't let go when his father comes to call them for supper. Eames can feel his face pinking again, but Mr. Miller doesn't seem to mind so much. He merely quirks an eyebrow just as Arthur would when he thinks something is amusing. 

Eames sits across from Arthur and next to Heather, who immediately informs him that they should spend all day lazing about the house tomorrow, because she knows she's exhausted and figures he must be as well. 

Eames happily acquiesces. 

Arthur informs him that his friend Lux would like to make plans with them for the next evening, perhaps to see a film, and he invites Heather to come along as well. He says they'll go with Heather and his mother to see  Frank Lloyd Wright's Fallingwater on Saturday. It's one of Arthur's favourite places, Eames knows, and he looks forward to making sketches there, but he's a bit concerned about awkward silence in the car on the way. For her part, Mrs. Miller says nothing about the trip.

"Arthur usually helps me at the store on Sundays, but we'll excuse him this week," says Mr. Miller. 

"I'd love to come see the shop, regardless," Eames replies and Arthur beams at him across the table. 

Heather cough-whispers "suckup" and he pointedly rolls his eyes at her. He understands why Arthur took to Ariadne so easily the summer previous. She may not have Heather's alleged wild streak, but she certainly has a similar sense of humour. 

"Why don't you come by Sunday morning before the church crowd shows up. I can give you the grand tour."

"I'd like that, Mr. Miller."

As the meal progresses, Heather dominates more and more of the conversation, telling funny stories about her sunstitute teaching  and how the students try to terrorize her, but she knows every trick in the book to combat their schemes.

"Honestly, Heather, that's not something to boast about, " Mrs. Miller says, seemingly having forgotten Eames is there. 

So naturally Heather chooses that moment to draw him back into the limelight.

"What about you, Eames? In school were you more of a holy terror like me, because I honestly deserve everything these kids throw at me, or more of a perfect golden boy like, Arthur?"

Eames face is on fire. He knows how Arthur feels about his sister's teasing, for one. And he also doesn't want to discuss any of the dramatic ups and downs of his time school, especially his withdrawal after the Callum fiasco and his embarrassing behaviour with Alton. 

"Heather!" Arthur objects, knowing full well Eames' dilemma.

"I suppose I was neither fish nor fowl," he replies. "I was a good student, but I kept to myself and drew in my sketchbook a great deal of the time. There wasn't exactly a thriving arts scene at my school." 

He hopes that's vague enough not to reveal too much of his pathetic past. 

"Am I the fish in this scenario? Or the fowl?" Heather asks.

"Both. And I'm the good, red herring," Arthur says, causing Eames to laugh a bit too loud in response. That is not an idiom he would have expected Arthur to recognise.

When they're finished eating Eames helps Arthur clear the table and Arthur asks if they might go down to the basement and watch television. 

"Leave the door open," Mr. Miller instructs and Eames wants to hide his face in a pillow at the implications behind the remark.

Arthur laughs at Eames' discomfort at this rule. 

"This must be a boarding school thing. Leaving the door open when there's a date or a potential date over is just standard operating procedure for parents. They said the same thing when Ari visited and Lux's mother won't let me hang out in her room, even with the door wide open. I can't really explain to her why I'm the furthest thing from a threat." 

"Will I be allowed up in your room?" 

"I don't know, actually. They laid down the law about no sneaking around and bed hopping at night before you arrived, but they didn't say anything about no bedrooms period. But there's more space down here anyway. And a TV. It's not like we're actually going to do anything with them sitting right upstairs."

Eames lowers his voice to a barely there whisper: "what about our plans for tomorrow?"

"They'll be at work. Heather is supposed to keep us out of trouble, but ... well that's kind of an absurd suggestion. She won't tell."

"What if I keep imagining your father looking sternly at me and I can't go through with it?"

"Don't be disgusting, Eames." 

They  cuddle on the sofa half watching some science program Arthur likes, and half talking about the weekend plans and about camp. Arthur is incredibly eager to be a senior counselor.

"No more running up and down the hill a million times a day keeping everyone in line, Eames. Just chilling by the tennis courts all day."

"You just can't wait to lord it over some new underling, can you?"

At about 11 o'clock Arthur's father knocks on the door at the top of the steps and tells them it's time to turn in. 

"Thank you again for a lovely evening," Eames says, wishing him goodnight.

"We're happy to have you, Tristan," Mr. Miller replies. 

To Arthur he says: "Five minutes," before ascending the stairs.

"Should I wake you in the morning when I have breakfast, or do you want to sleep in?"

"What do you think will be better? I don't want your parents to think I'm a layabout. But I don't want to make your mum uncomfortable, either." 

"Sleep in. You deserve it. And we'll be up early Saturday and Sunday."

"Sweet dreams then, darling."

"I'll be thinking about you," Arthur whispers and darts forward for a quick kiss. 


	4. Bedtime

Eames changes into his old man pyjamas and walks to the washroom at the end of the hall to clean his teeth, hearing water running and murmured voices above. 

He imagines being the sort of boy who would  sneak into Arthur's room tonight. But he knows he is too eager for approval to attempt such a thing.

Funny enough, if the shoe were on the other foot, he's fairly certain Arthur would crawl into bed with him at his parent's house without qualm. And Eames would let him, because he would undoutably be in need of the reassurance. 

When he returns to his room, his mobile lights up with a text from Arthur. 

[Can't stop thinking about you being up here with me tomorrow]

[Can't you now?]

[Seeing you stretched out naked on my sheets is a fantasy I didn't even know I had until tonight]

[I am very eager to indulge you on that front, darling]

It's low-key flirting by their standards. It could turn into more, or become casual chatter.

[I've been doing some research]

[Is that what they call it these days?]

[It's all very scientific]

[And what have you learned, darling?]

[I don't want you to come when I finger you open]

Eames feels a rush of adrenaline spike through his body. Arthur has been making plans for him, apparently. 

[Oh?? I rather thought that was the whole point?]

[It might not work, but I think it can get you ... to be more excited and less in pain when I fuck you]

[Darling, science should not be this hot]

[On the other hand, you might need to come to get relaxed enough ... But I want to try it this way first]

Eames is both aroused and a little bit afraid.

The thing is, although he does very badly want Arthur to fuck him again tomorrow, there is a part of Eames that is afraid they will never try switching it up again. And that part of him is ashamed about feeling this anxiety. 

He'd meant it in Chicago when Arthur had first proposed proper sex; he has no issue with bottoming for Arthur. He wanted to do it then and he wants to do it tomorrow. It's only that the idea that maybe he'll never top him, too, does bother Eames a tiny bit, despite the fact that he knows it shouldn't.  
   
And there's a deeper part of him that's afraid the real reason Arthur didn't  care for being fingered wasn't that his body isn't sensitive to it, but that Eames did a poor job of it. 

Eames suspects he could handle always bottoming if he knew for certain that Arthur just wasn't built for it. But he doesn't know and he worries that some lack of skill in his own part is to blame for depriving them of some pleasurable experince. The last thing he wants in the world is to be a disappointing lover to Arthur.

[Babe? Did you fall asleep on me?]

Eames must have spent too long lost in thought. He'll have to share these feeling with Arthur eventually; he doesn't hide things from Arthur anymore. But over text message in his parent's house is not the appropriate time.

[Sorry, darling. Drifted off a bit]

[I can't believe my dirty talk put you to sleep. Unless ... Were you jerking off down there?]

[No. Just thinking about what it will be like.]

[Are you nervous? We don't have to do this if you don't want. You know that right?]

[I am a bit. But I very much want to see this through. I know it will be brilliant eventually. We just need to figure out the basics.]

[That's what the science is for, duh]

[Did this science involve you touching yourself]

[Only after I'd done all the reading. And only imagining you ...]

[Wait, reading? I assumed this research was pornography]

[No!! It was sex reading. To learn how to make it better for you.]

[What else did you learn?]

Arthur responds in a series of stilted and awkwardly composed texts:

[Well ... This is totally unfair and I feel really embarrassed to bring it up but]   
[I think it will help if I come right before]   
[Before the sex, I mean]  
[You know, so I can last long enough]  
[To, you know, give you time to adjust to having me ... inside you]  
[But I  can do it by myself]  
[You know, come]  
[I couldn't ask you to help me come twice when I don't even know if I can, you know, make it good for you.]

Eames' stomach is doing somersaults. Arthur's obvious embarassment at feeling that he's not being as unfailingly generous as he should is more than Eames' poor heart can take. Even after all this time, he's still frequently knocked on his arse by how much time Arthur spends both actively and unconsciously demonstrating how dearly he values Eames. He's has never felt so loved in all his life, pathetic as he realises that sounds.  

[Darling, OF COURSE I will help. Don't be daft]  
   
[Well I didn't want to presume]

[For the time being, I give you standing permission to presume]

[Hahaha! I will do my best to presume from here on out. I love you, Eames]

[I was just thinking the very same thing]

[Sleep tight. Don't let the bedbugs bite]

[You have bedbugs?!?!?!?]

[eyeroll]


End file.
